


Heart Still Beating

by APlaceKeptHere (Woozycosm)



Category: Original Work
Genre: CPTSD, CSA, Childhood Trauma, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Ableism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mild Blood, Parent/Child Incest, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Pedophilia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smoking, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:41:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28022610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woozycosm/pseuds/APlaceKeptHere
Summary: This is an old one. A bit of poetry I made in-between therapy years ago. This work shares my thoughts on my recovery from my sexual trauma. Check the tags and notes for content warnings! Despite all that, it ends on a positive note. I'm just pretty straightforward about the awful parts as well.
Kudos: 9





	Heart Still Beating

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT WARNING: references to past sexual abuse of a child, abuse by a father, referenced blood, self-harm, smoke, triggers, and flashbacks

I will never have enough soap to wash away the dirty spots on my body.  
I will never be able to scrub away those filthy spots where you touched me.

I can still feel where your hands, so big compared to mine, brushed against every part of me. I remember how coarse they were, how cracked and dry. I was terrified, but for the sake of keeping up a happy family image, I said nothing. I would push you away, not meet your eyes, but I would not speak, to you, to my mother. To anyone.

I scratch my body, as if to tear away the imprint of you. I will not go for a razor, for I refuse to bleed for you. All you get is my nails, and maybe my teeth, clawing and biting your memory to pieces, destroying any part of you still here.

I know that this will not make me forget, because there's more to make me remember. The smoke from your cigarettes, a smell I had been so accustomed to, I now choke on. When passing someone smoking in public, I hold my breath, avert my eyes, because I do not want to remember, I do not want to be taken back to that trailer park.

I don't want to see the big tree in the middle with the tire swing you built for me. I don't want to taste those blackberries we had picked when they were just ripe. I don't want to smell the honeysuckles, the smoke, the gasoline, because those things are too much like you, like your hands.

Instead I'll find new trees, ones that my step-father planted. We will eat strawberries, ones that are store-bought, yet sweet enough for me. I will have new smells like candles and cake frosting and dirty clothes...but...

I still will never have enough soap to wash away the dirty spots on my body...well...  
I'll just but scented bath bombs and fluffy, warm towels to wrap myself in.

Because you may have touched this body, but I will make it mine again and sing myself songs of victory- yet I am not a survivor, a warrior, a success story. I am a person with a heart still beating.


End file.
